Portraiture
by BloomRay
Summary: "We put our faith in art – and it is time that you should too. I think you might be surprised by what you see." Zuko has his portrait made after the war. Oneshot.


_This was just a little plot bunny that was floating around so I decided to jot it down. As always, Avatar does not belong to me. _

_Hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

"This is completely unnecessary right now, Uncle," Zuko complained. "There will be plenty of opportunities for this later, but I don't have time for-"

"Why do we paint our leaders, nephew?" Iroh cut in, taking a sip from his cup. "Why not make a statue, like the Air Nomads or the Earth Kingdom?"

The Fire Lord groaned. He had a meeting with delegates from the Earth Kingdom later that day to discuss reparations and another the next morning with his own officials to draw up some new policies. There was hardly time for a history lesson.

But this was Uncle, and they saw each other so rarely these days, he couldn't bring himself to argue. "I suppose...I suppose it's because paintings give a lot more freedom? To the artist, I mean." He rubbed the back of his neck – art wasn't really his greatest skill. As children, Azula was the one that asked the questions and listened keenly. He just liked looking at the pictures.

Iroh smiled. "Interesting answer, nephew. Almost, almost..." He poured himself another cup of tea. "Portraits, Fire Lord Zuko – good ones, I mean – should tell us something of the subject's past and perhaps suggest something of their future. Sculptures are too honest for us. The Fire Nation is a deeply superstitious country, nephew. We put our faith in art – and it is time that you should too. I think you might be surprised by what you see."

Which was why, an hour later, Zuko found himself standing awkwardly before the family artist, Lian, in his finest and most uncomfortable formal wear.

"So, uh, how long have you been painting Fire Lords?" he asked the other man in an attempt to break the silence.

Short and stocky, Lian adjusted the young ruler's position, his attention only half on the question. "Your Highness, I have been working for your family for close to forty years. Before that, my father worked for you. Please don't slouch, my lord, and stand a little straighter."

Zuko obeyed stiffly, pushing his shoulders back. "And how do you like it? Working here, I mean. You can be honest, I don't mind."

"It is an honour," Lian answered, almost mechanically. It seemed he was used to idle conversation, in one form or another. "The greatest honour an artist can be bestowed with, painting the royal family." He lifted the Fire Lord's hands in the standard pose – palms facing the heavens - before thinking twice and folding them over each other in front.

This portrait, Lian had decided, would be different from its predecessors. After all, this young ruler did not possess the cunning intelligence of Sozin, or the ruthlessness of Ozai; no, he was softer, this one, unusual. He should not be treated the same as the others. This must be done to perfection.

Lian always made sure to learn a little history about his subject before he began his work. Such attention to detail had gained his family significance above other artists who painted only an image – he sought to capture the very essence of the person, to define them in the strokes of his brush.

Fire Lord Zuko had been the topic of much gossip lately, and here standing before him, the three words that were always spoken of came to mind.

"Honour," the young ruler repeated, quiet but firm. "Leave it to my family to _bestow _what does not belong to them." He took a deep breath, blinking furiously. "I'm sorry. Tell me, do you have a family? Any children?"

Different. That's the first word they used. There was a kindness in him that the Fire Nation had yet to see in a leader. By the time of coronation, the rigid training and grooming would overcome and erase any frailty, leaving behind empty souls and calculating eyes. The eyes of conquerors.

"I do, Your Highness. A wife and a young son. I believe he, too, might follow my trade. He has already taken a keen interest in my work."

"That sounds nice. Give them my best when you see them." The Fire Lord chuckled under his breath. "I was never any good at art. Azula has a better eye than me and she's a lot more patient. When we were little, and if I was really bored, I would swap her paints around to see if she would colour the trees blue or something by accident." A pause. "It never really worked. She always caught me."

Passionate. About loyalty. About honour. And surprisingly enough, about family. The entire country was alight with the stories of the great battle between the Prince and Princess, the devastation, the victory, the loss. After the war, many had called for her execution – a life for a life, they said! Bring down the symbol of treachery, of wickedness!

But the Fire Lord refused. There were rumours that she still resided somewhere close to the Palace, mentally unstable and cared for by the best physicians. There were rumours that he visited her every week for a few hours, and that no guard was allowed in the room when they were together. A brother who didn't look at his little sister with disgrace, but pity; who knew little of manipulation and deception but far too much of mercy.

He was still smiling at the memory. Lian had never seen a Fire Lord portrait with a smile. No, all sober. Perhaps it would be a pleasant change. So he kept quiet.

Lian examined the boy one last time, pale skin stark against the dark satin curtains he stood against. His scarlet and black robes wrapped around him like a throne, and he carried himself like the true royalty he was. Command in the hands grasped in front, and an expression suspended between a smile and a grimace, there was something captivating in his posture.

"I think we're finished for today, my lord."

* * *

When the Fire Lord returned after his day's work, he found Lian waiting for him in the throne room.

Most of the ancient Fire Lord paintings had been moved elsewhere in the Palace, but the leaders of the past four generations were hung up on the wall. Wide skylights threw down the last of the sun's light, gleaming on the new addition.

Zuko gave a small gasp as he stood in front of it, and when Lian snuck a glance at him, the Fire Lord's face was blanched, his body hunched and tense.

"I added the four elements as a symbol of unification, my lord," Lian began quickly, breaking the silence. "I thought that, after your victory with the Avatar and all your efforts in maintaining peace, it would be your most significant achievement to date. I hope I have not offended you, Your Highness-"

"You painted my scar."

It took him by surprise. Drawing himself together, Lian bowed. "Of course, Your Highness. I-I wasn't under the impression you desired differently. I can always change it, if you'd like."

In truth, Lian found himself wishing otherwise. He had never painted anyone quite like Fire Lord Zuko. He knew he had captured something of his pride in the solid stance, of his just nature in his clasped hands – yet this was the only portrait which Lian believed he had failed. It was a pallid reflection of what the Fire Lord truly was, stripped down to colour and brushstrokes, empty of the personality that had fascinated the painter so.

"No. No, keep it. It just took me by surprise, that's all. It wouldn't be right to pretend it doesn't exist. It's a part of who I am," Fire Lord Zuko said softly. He turned to the artist. "It always will be."

Damaged, thought Lian. That's the third word they used.

And they were right.

* * *

_I'd love to hear your thoughts, and thanks for reading! :) _


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